


silly stories

by postalcoast



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 1920s, Francis and Jack's Excellent Adventure, Future Fic, could probably be read as Jack/Francis, two pals who may or may not eventually time travel together :) idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/pseuds/postalcoast
Summary: New York was certainly a change of pace, Jack could give it that much. As was the change of the decade.Jack had his hair cut short and neat, traded in his gun for a suit.Life was okay.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	silly stories

**Author's Note:**

> this is going by the chance that arthur is the one who comes across francis in 1899, making him born in 1898 instead of 1906.

_1925-ish, somewhere in New York_

Jack had known Francis for years, now - probably since he’d moved to New York. In that all too ambiguous way people meet people, by chance or slip of fate. In passing or introduced. 

They’re sitting together in Jack’s New York apartment, small and a bit cramped, but it serves its purpose. 

Provides shelter from the bitter frost in the winters, from the rain that sweeps through occasionally, less than what Jack was accustomed to in the west. A place to sleep, a place to eat, a small desk propped up in the corner of his living room where he writes. 

New York was certainly a change of pace, Jack could give it that much. As was the change of the decade. 

Jack had his hair cut short and neat, traded in his gun for a suit. 

Life was okay.

“How’s West Elizabeth?” Jack asks, sitting on the opposite end of the couch where Francis sits, their pace in conversation being nothing but casual since Francis came through the door. 

It wasn’t an unexpected notion of Francis’s to show up at Jack’s apartment, unannounced - a habit he’d taken up since the two of them met. This time made no difference, and Jack enjoyed the company.

“Swell, just swell,” Francis says, still fidgets a bit in his seat like he does when he’s standing. Can’t quite keep still, always making some sort of gesture as grand as his words. 

Jack nods. “Good to hear.”

Francis is silent for a moment or two, like he’s mulling something over in his mind. Jack takes the opportunity to look at him, the slouch of his shoulders, the way he absentmindedly moves his foot occasionally from where it rests over his knee, his legs half-crossed. 

“Might go back there soon, modest little place Big Valley is,” Francis’s gaze is bright when he meets Jack’s, his brows still bunched together like he’s just been pulled from deep thought. “say, sport, didn’t you say you grew up around there?” 

“Around, yeah,” Jack shrugs, he hadn’t shared much of the details from his previous life with anyone since he moved here. He’d managed to spare Francis a few stories in passing, mostly just vague, happy memories. “My parents had a ranch in the Great Plains, before that we sort of moved around a lot.”

Francis smiles at that, recognizing another rare detail when Jack provides it. Francis had told him before that Jack sort of fascinated him, and even now, Jack’s still not sure what he meant. 

“And to think we could’ve been under each other’s noses the entire time,” Francis reaches over to give Jack a pat on the knee, still smiling. The kind of smile Jack’s always found contagious, one he can’t help but mirror. “we could’ve practically been childhood friends, you and me.”

Jack snorts at this, and he glances away. Quick and unconscious. “I never really had any friends my age growin’ up.” 

He hears Francis mumble something, something that vaguely sounds like _“ah, horsefeathers,”_ like he’s completely dubious to the fact that Jack wasn’t surrounded by friends when he was young. 

And in a way, maybe he was. People who cared for him, at least, from the fuzzy memories he can recall upon about his youth.

“You got friends now, Jackie, that’s all that matters,” Francis says in a way that Jack’s sure he means himself, at least. And, Jack’s glad of that. Francis is a good friend to have.

“Y’know, I don’t think you’re quite the flat tire you let on to be, Jackie,” Francis says when Jack meets his gaze again. “I think you got as much _story_ in you as those novels of yours.”

Jack could say the same for Francis, although Francis had made it clear he’d tell Jack anything he wanted to know. His trips to West Elizabeth, that book of sketches he carries around - all of it answers to questions Jack hadn’t quite found the words for yet. 

While Francis could be an allusive man he never really was one for secrets. 

A mystery waiting to be solved if Jack were inclined to do so. 

Maybe Francis sort of fascinates Jack, too.

“Not quite, Francis,” Jack chuckles, all too quick to resort to humbleness. “but hell, maybe I’ll entertain you one of these days.” 

“I’d like that, sport.” Francis leans back at that, still grinning and his words sound like a promise. “I’d like that a lot.”


End file.
